


Can't Start a Fire Without a Spark

by cherryvanilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Car Sex, Don't Know They're Related, Drama & Romance, F/M, First Dates, Meet-Cute, Springsteen, Street Racing, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 09:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16261364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: Deanna “Dean” Winchester knows a few things as gospel: she’s a hunter, she never stays in the same place for long, she started drag racing for cash -- alongside the standard pool hustling and credit card scams -- after her dad died, and she lost her brother Sam (along with their mom) to a house fire when she was four years old.When her car fortuitously breaks down near Bobby’s Salvage Yard and Auto Garage, Dean definitely isn’t expecting a guy with her late brother’s name to pick up the phone, and she certainly isn’t expecting to fall for him so hard or so fast.Or for one of those gospel truths to be prove false.





	Can't Start a Fire Without a Spark

**Author's Note:**

> I've made two mixes to accompany this fic. The first is a musical prequel, featuring the early years of Deanna Winchester, found on 8tracks [here](https://8tracks.com/sometimesalways/can-t-start-a-fire-without-a-spark-deanna-winchester-the-early-years). This leads directly into the second mix, From the fire roads to the interstate, found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7aDci88i34tdgKXpyBYanL) on Spotify, which takes you through the fics themes and aesthetic and contains an abundance of Springsteen (whom also provides the story's title and majority of lyrics within). 
> 
> Huge thanks to Beth and Raka for looking this over, 2blueshoes for stepping in and pinch-hitting with great art, and the mods for being so accommodating and helpful.
> 
> Art is embedded and also [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16263815)

  
[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=1z1tzyq)

  
______________________________

_Like a river that don’t know where it’s flowin’  
I took a wrong turn and I just kept goin’_

Deanna “Just call me Dean” Winchester rolls into some no-name town in South Dakota late one warm afternoon in June, thinking it’ll just be a quick stop. Perhaps she can make a few bucks racing, or find a pickup game in some local dive bar. Dean doesn’t even know Bobby’s is the next town over until her baby breaks down and she’s standing on the side of the road with the hood up, the engine smoking, and assholes honking as they drive by. She gives them all the finger without looking up before walking around to the side. She crawls over the seat, digging through the glove compartment for a map. When she discovers her good fortune she immediately gets out her flip phone and pulls up the number for Singer Salvage and Auto Repair in her contacts. Bobby still refuses to get a cell phone, despite it being 2007. 

It’s hot, the summer sun beating down on the car and the seats overheating. Dean flops onto her back against the passenger door, slouching down low and knocking back some water as the phone rings. Her legs hang out the driver’s side window, the metal warm against the backs of her knees. She usually hates wearing shorts but isn’t regretting the denim ones she opted for today in place of full-on jeans. The phone is still ringing as Dean wedges it between her neck and ear. She sits up a little, removing her flannel and tying it around her waist, leaving just the white tank top. Sweat gathers at the base of her neck, and she’s thinking about hanging up so she can at least put her damn hair up in a ponytail when someone who is _not_ Bobby answers the phone. 

“Singer Salvage and Auto, how can I help ya?”

Dean pauses and once more considers hanging up. 

“Hello?”

The guy sounds young, and he’s got a really nice voice. 

“Yeah, hey, I’m uh -- looking for Bobby Singer?”

“Bobby had to go out of town for a few days. Anything I can help you with?”

Dean sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Out of town” is code for a hunt, but she seriously doubts this kid knows that. She thinks about telling him _thanks but no thanks_ , yet at the same time doesn’t feel like tracking down another place to tow her baby to. Plus, Bobby is unlikely to charge her and funds are super low right now. 

“Hope so, man. I’m kinda in a jam. Car broke down on the highway, nothing around but farms for miles. Bobby’s a family friend.”

“Oh gosh, that sucks, miss. Um, he’s pretty off the grid right now. Left me in charge. Tell me where you are and I’ll bring the tow?”

Dean smiles, shaking her head. _Miss_. This kid is cute as a button. Normally she doesn’t go for ‘cute,’ but she’s been known to make an exception or two.

She tells him her coordinates as best she can make out. 

“Great, see you soon. Name’s Sam, by the way.”

She stares down at her phone long after the call ends, lost in the handful of vague memories she has of “Sammy” before the night he was taken from them, along with her mom. 

“Fuckin’ fantastic,” Dean mutters, closing her eyes as she rubs at her temple.  
_______________________

Sam arrives thirty minutes later, and Dean stiffens when she sees him. It’s stupid and dumb, but she can’t help it. It’s a painful name with painful memories, and suddenly she feels a lot less charitable, despite the solid this guy is doing her. 

Of course, he has to go and be gorgeous as all fuck. Dean watches as he climbs down from the cab of the truck. He’s clad in baggy jeans, flannel shirt and has floppy hair that hangs a little long on his forehead, causing him to push it away from his eyes. 

“Hi,” Sam says, smiling so wide at her that his dimples show. “I’m Sam, nice to meet you.”

She takes his hand, ignores the weird electricity at the touch. His eyes go a little wide, and she pulls back quickly. 

“Deanna. Most people call me Dean.”

Sam seemingly recovers from the awkward moment between them and is now smirking. “Like James?”

Dean scoffs, not wanting to tell him just how close he is with that remark. “Sure, buddy. Anyway, uh, thanks for coming. Think it might be the carburetor.”

“No problem,” Sam says, smiling wide again. They stand over the hood together while Sam takes a look. There’s something electric in the air, standing this close to him. Like puzzle pieces slotting into place, but with some magnetic pull to guide their way. It’s different than the flare of desire she typically feels around someone she’s attracted to. She notes how big Sam’s hands are as they poke in the engine. They should look clumsy, but instead, like everything else about this guy, they’re gorgeous, almost graceful. 

Dean shows him where the air looks like it’s coming in and he ‘hmms’ like he knows what he’s doing here. It’s adorable. 

Sam straightens, grazing against Dean’s shoulder in the process. He pulls a rag out of his back pocket to wipe his hands. “Think you were dead on about it being the carburetor.” 

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2vtcmm1)

Dean tilts her head at him, grinning. “You have no clue. Do you?” 

“Um, not so much,” Sam flushes. “Sorry. But I can rig up a mean tow?”

“Well, lucky for you,” laughs Dean, “I know enough about cars for the both of us. You get me to Bobby’s, and I’ll work on it with you.” 

“Oh,” Sam replies, expression sheepish. “I couldn’t make you do that -- maybe I should just bring you to one of the shops in Sioux Falls proper?” 

“Please, man,” Dean scoffs. She leans back against the engine and crosses her arms over her chest. “So they can charge me an arm and a leg? No thanks. How bout I help fix ‘er up, and we call it even.” 

“Alright, if you’re sure? And um, I don’t think Bobby would’ve appreciated me charging a friend anyway, so no worries there.” 

“I am. Thanks, man,” Dean says. Sam smiles once more (how can one person smile so much?), and Dean moves out of the way so he can close the hood before heading over to back up the tow. 

She has a hard time not letting her eyes linger on Sam’s shoulders or the curve of his back as he gets on the ground to secure the wheel lift under the Impala. 

“Sweet ride you got there,” Sam says.

“Yeah, this here’s my baby.” Dean smiles helplessly at her car, the only thing she’s got left anymore. Sure, there was Bobby, but it’s been a while now since she’s seen him; since shortly after Dad drank himself into an early grave while Dean wasn’t even there to prevent it. 

It was still hard to show her face sometimes. 

Dean had been off in Jericho trying to find the demon that’d killed her family when it happened. Dad had told her to stop, that it was a pipe dream, but she hadn’t wanted to believe that. It’d been a hard life, living out of suitcases, hunting things just she and Dad. Watching him fall further into a pit of alcohol and depression until, finally, he’d just stopped hunting altogether. Instead, he holed himself up in a trailer park in Kansas with an endless bottle of whiskey and his memories for company. 

Dean couldn’t live like that. Wouldn’t. But by the time she’d come back, he’d been dead for days, and she had to give him a hunter’s funeral through her cascade of tears. 

She told herself if she’d stayed it might not have happened, that he’d still be around. But the first time she’d seen Bobby afterward, he said to knock that crap right off. 

(“Your daddy was stubborn and pigheaded, and if the bottle hadn’t gotten him this time, it would’ve another.”)

Dean knew he was right, but it still hurt like hell. She almost couldn’t take the pity in Bobby’s eyes any more than her endless guilt. She started racing her baby after leaving Kansas for good and deciding never to go back; that state took her whole damn family from her, it wasn’t worth shit. 

The Impala had been given to her on her 18th birthday and was the only thing she had left of her dad besides his leather jacket. Drag racing her felt fitting; like Dean was breathing new life into the car with every rev of the engine. It paid the bills in between pool hustling and was easier than credit card fraud. So for her baby to break down now, after it’s been just the two of them for the past year and a half, felt like the ultimate betrayal. 

Dean was so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t realized Sam was done rigging up her car onto the wheel lift and crane and was now wiping his hands on that same dirty rag that had been hanging out the back of his jeans. Not that she’d been focused on that or anything. 

“All set! C’mon, I'll give you a lift to the shop. If you’re really a friend of Bobby’s, he wouldn’t mind you staying at his till we get your car fixed.”

Dean nods while drinking in Sam’s adorably shy smile. “Thanks again, man. Appreciate all this.”

“Like I said, not a problem,” Sam says as they climb into the truck. Some modern alternative rock station comes on as Sam starts her up and Dean barely holds back a wince. “Just um, the thing is I stay at Bobby’s too. I work here in the summers; he’s kind of a family friend. But it’s alright; he probably wouldn’t mind me taking his room or the couch.”

Heat pools low in her belly unbidden, the thought of being in the same house with Sam far too enticing. Shit. She really needs to get laid, but it probably shouldn’t be with this sweet kid that Bobby cared about and trusted enough to let stay in his home.

“No worries, man, we’ll figure something out.” Then she settles in for a long ride of terrible music and a too cute guy with a killer smile chatting happily away.  
______________________________

_Some folks are born into a good life  
Other folks get it anyway, anyhow_

By the time they get to Bobby’s Dean has learned that Sam is from California, is a Stanford graduate, has been coming to work with Bobby the past few summers when time allows and is starting his second year of law school in the fall. He’s an only child, broke up with his only serious girlfriend about a year ago (Dean may or may not have whooped internally at that), and he’s never been to the Grand Canyon. 

“How bout you?” Sam asks as he jumps out of the truck and sets about getting the Impala off the tow. 

“Uhhh, I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon either?” 

Sam laughs, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. “Mysterious one, huh?” 

“You could say that.” 

Sam doesn’t press her for any other details. They focus on the car instead, checking out the engine and assessing the work needed. 

“Yeah, you definitely know more about cars than I do,” Sam admits, voice impressed. “I usually just, uh, handle the books since Bobby hates that part and I actually enjoy it. Or I deal with the salvage yard stuff. Being a bit on the outskirts of Sioux Falls we don’t get many random calls about auto repairs, honestly. And if we do, it’s usually something like an oil change or flat tire. The other times, Bobby’s normally around. This thing he had to do just… uh, popped up, though.” 

Dean hums, thinking she should probably try and track down Bobby somehow, ask if he needs a hand. He was probably with Rufus, who did actually have a cell phone. Then she looks at Sam, and those vast eyes which she now realizes are hazel. She figures it could probably wait at least a little while. 

“Yeah, well, I’m used to working on my baby. Kinda trust myself with her more than anyone else. No offense.” 

Sam smiles. “None taken.” Sam smiles. “Wouldn’t want to mess her up on ya.” 

“You wouldn’t live to tell the tale, Sam.” 

Sam laughs. “So what gives, you a mechanic or something?” 

“Nah,” Dean replies. “I mean, I’ve worked in a shop or two before when I’ve needed the cash. But uh, no, don’t really have a job, per se. Just kinda… wander around, ya know?” She feels on edge all of a sudden, bracing for the judgement. And why shouldn’t he, this rich Ivy League California boy. 

Sam looks her up and down, expression thoughtful. Dean begins to bristle under his assessment.

“You’re a hunter, aren’t you?” he says after a long beat. 

A ripple runs up her spine. That was _not_ what she was expecting. “A what?” Dean’s first thought is that she’s been played. That this kid, too fantastic to be real, was in actuality a demon. Then Sam smiles one of those brilliant smiles again and Dean immediately discounts that notion. Not even a demon could fake it that good. 

“Um, look, I love Bobby and all. And no offense to him but -- I doubt he’d hang in the same circles as someone who uh, looks like you unless you were a fellow hunter.” 

Dean flushes at the compliment hidden within that sentence before focusing on the rest. She doesn’t exactly make a habit of spilling the beans about the things that both lurk in the dark and hide in plain sight during the light of day, but it seems like Bobby already has. Either that or -- 

“Yeah, well, I could say the same thing about you, buddy. So what gives? Law school by day, hunter by night? 

“Me? A hunter?” Sam laughs again, startled. Dean can’t help but notice his cheeks have grown a little red. She hopes it’s from her own compliment. So, they both think the other is attractive. Dean files that tidbit away under the category of ‘awesome things to know.’ “Nah, just a boring full-time law student. I mean, Bobby’s taught me some stuff, but I’ve never had, like, any hands-on experience. It’s um, not really my thing.” 

Dean nods, heart sinking a little. Sam was just a regular guy. A smart, college graduate, whereas Dean only got her GED a few years ago just to prove to herself that she could. She doesn’t ever intend to look for a job that requires it or to complete any higher education. There was no room for someone like Sam in Dean’s world. Hell, she had to wonder why Bobby even told him in the first place; there were some things better left alone in the dark. 

“Yeah, well,” she says, voice a little rough as memories of pain and loss at the hands of being a hunter overtake her. “Keep it that way.” She hopes Sam will drop the conversation, doesn’t want to be thinking about her actual life right now and how it’s worlds apart from this guy. She just wants to pretend for a little while -- be someone else. 

“Alright,” Sam says quietly, as if he can tell Dean’s working through something. She’s not sure how she feels about this guy being able to read her so easily, but she’s happy he doesn’t seem to want to push it further. 

“Anyway,” Dean says, bending over the hood of the Impala to inspect the damage before groaning. She runs a loving hand over the engine. “Poor Baby. No race for you tonight, girl.” 

“Race?” 

“Yep.” Dean straightens up, flipping her hair off her shoulder. “Best little drag racer there is, right here.” Her voice oozes with unbridled pride. 

Sam steps back as Dean closes the hood, looking from her to the car. “People still drag race?” 

“You’d be surprised, bud. Not much to do in some of the one horse towns I pass through. Can usually feel it out when I’m in a bar, based just on the cars out front and the _look_ of some of these guys, ya know? Walkin’ around like their shit don’t stink. Make some decent dough.” 

Sam’s brow is furrowed. He looks down at Dean through his too-pretty lashes. “Isn’t that kinda dangerous, though? And uh, illegal?” 

“So’s credit card fraud, but you gotta live somehow, right?” Dean replies, almost daring him to judge her. “Besides, it’s no more dangerous than killin’ monsters, Sammy.” 

The nickname slides off her tongue, feeling like the most natural thing in the world. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as she thought it would. Instead, it feels oddly right to call him that. Sam’s eyes widen for a moment before he’s grinning at her, wide and bright. “It’s Sam,” he admonishes, but he’s still smiling and Dean’s heart tripwires in her chest. 

“I dunno, look like a Sammy to me,” she says, reaching up to ruffle his hair. He giggles ( _giggles_ ) and bats her hand away. Then they’re just staring at one another with dumb grins on their faces. Dean’s never wanted to hug and kiss someone this badly simultaneously.

She clears her throat. “Um, obviously ain’t racin’ her tonight but maybe when we get ‘er fixed up, I’ll take ya along.” 

Sam’s smile widens, if possible, and he scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh, I think I’d actually like that.” 

“Gonna corrupt you, huh? Bobby’ll never let me live it down.” 

They hold one another’s gazes, half-smiles on their lips. Dean feels itchy under her skin. Luckily, Sam is the one to speak first. “So, uh, you must be hungry. Not all that much in the house except canned stuff, pasta, and PB&J, but there’s a diner just up the road if -- if you wanna go?” 

Dean hasn’t been asked out on a date in a long time. Mostly, her “dates” consist of fucking in the dirty bathrooms of bars or outside against a building with the brick digging into her back and scratching up her shoulders. She’s not even sure what a date invite _looks_ like anymore, but this right here -- Sam shuffling a little on his feet, spots of color blooming high on his cheeks -- certainly seems like it could be one. 

Warning bells go off in her brain that this can’t possibly end well, but she ignores them. She’s done casual nearly all her life, lived without forming attachments. There’s no reason why she can’t do the same here. No reason why this has to be anything other than two ships passing in the night, lonely and bored and wanting to get it wherever they could. Dean can totally live her life like a Bob Seger song; she’s had a lot of practice already. 

“That sounds great, Sammy,” she grins, loving his put-upon scowl at the nickname and knowing he doesn’t truly mean it. 

“Great! Just uh, let me get washed up.” 

She watches him go, those baggy jeans moving along with the sway of his hips as he goes. 

“I am in deep shit,” Dean tells her baby before heading into the house herself.  
______________________________

_Workin’ on mysteries without any clues_

They pull up to the diner in Sam’s crappy volvo. Dean refrains from commenting on his car, but just barely. Then she realizes she’s been here before, the last time she came to visit. 

“They’ve got a killer bacon burger,” Dean says, practically bouncing on her feet as they walk through the door. “And cheese fries. And, oh man, amazing apple pie if I remember correctly.”

Sam stares at her, eyes wide, as they wait to be seated. “Yeah,” he replies slowly, “if you’re a fan of heart attacks.” 

Dean rolls her eyes. “Live a little, Sammy boy.” 

“Two?” The hostess, probably mid to late 40s, asks. “Booth alright?” 

Dean smiles winningly at her. “Why yes indeed, ma'am, that’d be just fine.” 

She smirks, then looks at Sam. “Where’d you pick up this firecracker, Sam?” 

“Think she picked me up,” Sam says, sounding a little flummoxed. Dean tosses him a grin over her shoulder and saunters toward the booth, making sure to swing her hips just so. No way in hell could Sam be looking at anything _other_ than her ass in her cut-off jean shorts, and she’s damn proud of that fact. 

Sure enough, Sam looks a little dazed and flushed as they take their seats.

Dean grins to herself behind the large menu, a thrill of excitement coursing through her. It’s been too long since she flirted with someone that didn’t immediately lead to screwing against a hard surface not even ten minutes later. It feels… nice. 

They smile at one another over their menus and order cokes and some mozzarella sticks to share. 

Dean hums her approval. “Was starting to think you didn’t do fried foods, Sammy.” 

“‘Everything in moderation’ is my motto.” 

Dean laughs delightedly and kicks his ankle with her Converse. “You’re such a dork, man.” 

“Jerk,” Sam says. 

“Bitch,” Dean shoots back, making Sam’s eyebrows raise, looking almost scandalized. She laughs some more. “Oh, man, you’re fuckin’ adorable.”

Sam ducks his head, cheeks pinking up. The waitress, Angela, comes back with their mozzarella sticks and to take their entree order. Sam orders some healthy wrap thing with no grease in sight, while Dean goes for the bacon burger again. Why mess with perfection?

“So uh, how’d you get your nickname?” Sam asks when she leaves. 

Dean dips a stick in the marinara sauce and takes a bite of deep-fried cheesy goodness. “Apparently I couldn’t say my own name when I was first learning to talk. I kinda mushed the syllables together and what came out instead was ‘Dean’. My mom liked it so much that it stuck. Or that’s the story my dad told me anyway. She died when I was four.” 

She risks a glance at Sam, sees the sympathy shining in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

Dean shrugs, looking down at her plate. It’s always raw whenever she tells someone. “Don’t remember too much about her. I remember her hair was also blonde, as long as mine.” 

_Probably why I refuse to cut it, even though it’s annoying as fuck,_ she adds silently. 

“I remember she liked the sound of the rain on the windows and cut the crusts off my PB&J because I’d bitch if she didn’t.” 

Sam laughs quietly, a soft, sad sound.

Dean swirls a mozzarella stick around in the sauce, watching its movement. She doesn’t tell him about her baby brother, whom she remembers even less. Dean has vague memories of kissing Sammy goodnight in his crib and of holding him on the couch. And then, a barely-there mental image of carrying him out of a burning house. Except she couldn’t have. When she was 8, she asked her dad about it and then again at 13. He always responded the same way; that sometimes our mind plays tricks on us, conjures up false recollections of things that never took place. 

Dean knew deep down he had to be right because Sammy was gone and a gravestone in Lawrence proved that. But it still never erased the emptiness within her and the feeling that she wasn’t supposed to lose them both that night. She ached for her mom all the time, but the loss of Sam -- that was like a phantom limb. 

And there’s no way she could share the memory of that with someone else, not even someone who shared her late brother’s name; it felt too intimate, too personal. 

“You alright?” Sam asks, voice low, and Dean realizes she’s still staring down at her food. 

“Yep,” she replies, popping the entire mozzarella stick into her mouth. “Peachy.” 

“Sorry,” Sam says, “I shouldn’t have—“

Dean waves him off. “You asked a harmless question, Sam. You didn’t know.”

Sam nods rapidly. “True, yeah, but sometimes even the most innocuous question can trigger painful memories.”

Dean finds herself staring at him. 

“What?” Sam asks, palming the back of his neck. 

“Nothing,” she replies, shrugging one shoulder. “I like the way you talk.”

Sam laughs, ducking his head. “Well, thanks.”

Their food arrives as they’re smiling at one another yet again. 

“So talk to me some more, college boy,” Dean says, never particularly caring to listen to people who ramble, yet wanting only that from Sam. 

And so he does. By the time they get the check Dean was trying and failing to remember when she had this good a time without being on her back.  
____________________________

Sam’s last name is Wesson, his parents are Ryan and Julia, his favorite ice cream flavor is Rocky Road, and his favorite cereal is Lucky Charms. Dean feels like she’s building an archive of Sam Wesson trivia inside her brain. 

They end up hanging out at the kitchen table when they get back to the house, playing cards. Dean kicks his ass in poker, but Sam beats her at War. 

“Whatever,” Dean sniffs. “S’not even a real game.”

“Someone’s a sore loser,” Sam sing-songs and Dean flips him off before demanding a rematch. 

They drink a few beers, make some popcorn and watch a bad movie on TV before it’s time to bed. 

It’s only then that it’s awkward. “Uh,” Sam says, standing up from the couch. “So I can sleep out here, it’s no big deal.”

Dean rolls her eyes. “I’m not kicking you out of your room, man. Doesn’t this thing still fold out into a sofa bed? I’ll be fine.”

Sam looks like he wants to say something else but doesn’t. Together they get the sheets from the linen closet and make up the bed. It feels stupidly domestic. Sam gets her a few towels too, before offering up the bathroom first. Dean usually showers in the morning, but it’s been such a gross, sweaty day that she’s more than happy to now.

She washes up quickly, ignoring the thrumming heat between her legs at the thought of Sam just outside, and then towels off, slipping into her boxers and the black tank top that she’d pulled out of her backpack, overly aware of not having a bra on. Fuck it, it’s not like she sleeps in one. 

She’s still toweling off her hair as she walks out of the bathroom, calling to Sam that the bathroom’s all his. 

Sam steps out of his room, passing one another on Dean’s way to the living room. Sam’s face is flushed as he takes her in. His eyes briefly drift to her chest before he catches himself and flushes even more. Dean goes hot all over and has to stop herself from grabbing and shoving Sam against the wall. 

“Uh. Well, goodnight,” Sam says, voice soft, their eyes meeting. 

“Night, Sammy,” Dean replies, her own voice rough. She climbs onto the sofa bed as the bathroom door closes and wants so badly to jerk off. She won’t, though, not until Sam’s safely in his room with the door closed. 

Dean stares up at the ceiling, hearing the toilet flush, the sink go on. When Sam emerges, she can barely make out his silhouette as he walks back to his room, but he’s absolutely shirtless and even more defined than his tanktop let on. She swallows hard when the door closes. Lying in the eerie silence of the house, Dean drags a hand down her body, teasing over her nipples and down to her clit. She draws it out, biting her lip hard and arching her back, legs tensing.

She wonders, as she comes, if Sam is in there doing the same thing. If he’s thinking about fucking into Dean and making her scream, not having to hold back like she is right now.

She sleeps pretty damn well after that, despite the lumpiness of the sofa bed.  
______________________________

Dean stumbles toward the kitchen the next morning, her hair a messy cascade in front of her face as she pops the kinks out of her back. 

“Coffee,” she mumbles, not looking up. Through her curtain of hair, Dean can vaguely see Sam’s feet near the stove. 

Sam laughs. “Sooo, not a morning person then?” 

“Must you be so cheerful,” Dean grunts, throwing herself into a kitchen chair. 

Sam laughs again, quietly this time. “Um, I’m a real terrible cook, but I’m attempting eggs?” 

Dean sniffs. She brushes her hair out of her eyes before reaching for the coffee pot. “There’s caffeine, that’s all I care about, Sammy.” 

Looking up, she catches a fond smile on Sam’s face before he’s quickly turning away again toward the stove. 

Dean watches as he makes slow, deliberate movements with the spatula. She takes in the curve of his back, the breadth of his shoulders, the tightening muscles in his forearm. “You put some bacon in that pan, and I’ll love ya forever.” 

“Your arteries seriously worry me,” Sam grumbles, but he still does it. Dean sits back with her coffee and the funnies and listens to the bacon sizzling in the pan as Sam hums softly under his breath. 

They maneuver around each other in the kitchen after eating, Sam wiping down the dishes while Dean washes them. It’s like they’ve been doing this their whole lives, the way they’re so completely in sync. They steal looks at one another the entire time. Dean knows this is eventually going to lead to a bed or a couch or hell, a wall. She could probably step into Sam right now and make it happen. Forget about fixing up her baby and just spend the entire day in bed with this guy, finding out if they’re completely in sync that way, too. 

But she doesn’t. It’s too delicious, this fire that’s building between them. Dean is in a near permanent state of lowkey arousal anytime she’s near Sam at this point, yet she wants to draw it out even more. 

So instead, they throw on some clothes that neither of them mind getting too dirty and set out to the garage. 

“We’ve got check the electrical system first,” Dean says, taking her flannel off and tying it around her waist. 

“Right, I knew that,” Sam replies, wiping some sweat from his brow.

Dean arches a skeptical eyebrow at him, and then they get to work. Everything is fine electrically, so they move on to the fuel system. There’s no clogged pick-filter or dirty in-line, so that’s good. Dean keeps up a steady stream of dictation as they check it out and Sam looks on in earnest, listening raptly. It feels good, being able to teach him this stuff. There are so many things Sam probably knows about that Dean doesn’t, so the fact that she can impart this wisdom onto him is — nice. 

Next, they check the engine for vacuum leaks. There’s definitely a loose line plug, so they tighten it, but when Dean starts her up again, things still aren’t right. 

“No wrenches yet,” Dean says to Sam who’s already pulled one out. “The key to carburetors is patience. We gotta just look for cracks and shit right now.”

Sam nods, bending in close to her beneath the hood. He smells so good, fresh like the soap he uses, and maybe a hint of some cologne, too. They check the screws next, tightening and loosening and tightening again. After trying the engine once more, there’s no change in the idling.

“Think this is gonna be an internal air leak which means disassembling. Let’s get her out.”

It’s an involved process, and they go slower than average because Dean’s explaining everything they’re doing. Once it’s out, though, they put a clean rag over the intake manifold -- so that the small parts and nuts don’t fall in -- and then place the carburetor on a workbench. 

Very carefully, they disassemble it together. Dean puts some of the smaller parts in a baggy and bounces to her feet. 

“Alright, we should be able to rebuild her no sweat, s’long as Bobby’s got all the parts. And he should, given the old cars and general scraps here. So, let’s set about finding ourselves a makeshift rebuild kit!” She claps Sam on the shoulder, excitement building within her. 

“Where’d you learn how to do all this?” Sam asks, sounding in awe of Dean’s everything as they hunt around the salvage yard for the parts while Dean points out the stuff they need and matches up what they find to the parts in the bag. 

“My dad. He pretty much taught me everything I could ever need to know about this car in the years leading up to my 18th birthday. S’when he gave her to me.” 

“That’s so cool. You two must be close.” 

Dean pauses, gripping the small gasket in her hand tightly. “Yeah, uh. Well, he’s gone now too.”

“Shit,” Sam whispers. “I’m sorry.” 

Dean doesn’t look at him. What this guy think must of her at this point, seeing as her dead parents coming up anytime he tries to ask a simple question. 

“Was it a hunt?” Sam asks quietly. 

Dean sniffs, searching through the scrap metal for what she needs. “Alcohol.” 

They’re quiet for a few moments before Sam says, “You loved him a lot.” His shoulder is steady pressure against her own, his words not a question. 

“John Winchester was an insufferable son of a bitch on a good day,” Dean replies. “But he was my dad. So yeah. I did.” 

She risks a glance at Sam then, finds him smiling oddly. 

“What?” Dean asks, bristling. 

Sam shakes his head. “Nothin’. Just, didn’t know your last name until then.” 

Dean laughs, ducking her head. She glances back up at him through his eyelashes. “Well, congrats, buddy. Got further than most people.” 

Sam looks pleased by that, like he’s slowly uncovering her mysteries. Dean should hate it, but dammit, she really doesn’t. 

“Alright, enough chick flick moments. Back to work.” 

Sam giggles and knocks his shoulder into hers once more. “Yes, ma'am.”  
______________________________

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=n6xkiw)

_I need a love reaction_  
_Come on, baby, gimme just one look_  


It takes them a long while to find everything. By the time they’ve got their kit matched up, it’s nearly dinner and they never even had lunch. “How bout we call it a day? This took longer than I thought.”

Sam nods, wiping some grease off his hands with a rag. “Sounds good to me. You hungry?”

“I’m always hungry, Sammy.”

Sam laughs, shaking his head. “Well. Um. There’s a decent barbecue place in town. Casual. And a mini-golf place near it. I was wondering if… maybe you’d like to go.”

Dean blinks at him before smiling slowly, warmth blooming inside her. “Why Sam Wesson, are you asking me on a date?”

Sure, maybe she’d been iffy on yesterday’s invite being a date, but this here? Pretty damn unmistakable. 

Sam flushes -- just like Dean thought he would -- but he meets her gaze head-on as he says, “Yeah, Dean Winchester, I guess I am.”

Dean grins so hard her face hurts. Then she realizes what he just said. “ _Mini-golf?_ ”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.”

“ _Right_ ,” she says, drawing out the word. There weren’t exactly outings as innocent and carefree as mini-golf during her adolescence. Dean’s idea of a fun Friday night back then was playing darts in a bar while her dad hustled drunks at pool. Nowadays, Dean was the hustler, and it was _still_ her idea of a fun Friday night. But so help her, Dean can’t fucking wait to go on this wholesome mini-golf date. 

They’re both sweaty and gross and decide take showers before getting dressed to go. Once again the air crackles and sizzles around them as they circle each other’s orbits. 

Dean doesn’t do dresses or skirts (unless the job calls for it), but she does have a low-cut three quarter sleeve shirt that’s mostly sheer and fancier than her regular tank tops and flannels. So she puts that on, along with her jeans and boots.

Sam is wearing a shirt that shockingly isn’t flannel either. A black button down shirt and dark jeans that make his thighs look great. Dean finds it oddly endearing that they’ve both attempted to be fancier tonight. _For their mini-golf date._ It was hilariously ridiculous. 

It had been way too long since Dean participated in mundane shit like this. Her average speed was impersonating FBI agents, performing exorcisms, and drawing devil’s traps. The only thing that would make going on this date better would be if they could take her baby. She’ll be up and running again tomorrow if Dean has anything to say about it. 

Dean manages to commandeer control of the radio in Sam’s car, letting the Led out on the local rock station. Sam rolls his eyes at her, grin firmly in place, as she obnoxiously sings along to Ramble On. 

The barbeque joint is casual like Sam said. They sit in a wood formica booth and order beers; it’s so _normal_ , almost distressingly so. Then Dean realizes once more that this is a date and not some prelude to a fuck. She actually has to say something other than “you got a condom on you?” 

Sam comes to the rescue, asking Dean what her favorite parts of the country are, which was the best drag race she’s ever run and which was the worst. It gets Dean talking about her experiences in ways she never has; like she’s bringing Sam along on the road with her through those memories. It feels -- right. 

Before Dean knows it the check has come and they still haven’t stopped talking. Sam immediately grabs for it like he did yesterday. Dean rolls her eyes but lets him. Then it’s off to mini-golf which is just a few doors down. They walk there, the night clear and mild, and Sam honest to god reaches out to hold her hand. 

Dean’s first instinct is to pull back, but she refuses to let herself. She glances over at Sam, sees a small, pleased smile playing at his lips. They’re still holding hands while they wait in line for the balls and clubs. An older woman spots them and smiles. Dean’s certainly not used to being randomly smiled at, and all because she’s engaging in a little heterosexual PDA. It once again reeks of normalcy. She does pull her hand away then. She doesn’t look at Sam after, not wanting to know if those puppy dog eyes have turned a little disappointed. 

They’re up next in the line, so they wouldn’t have been holding hands much longer anyway. Still, she misses the firm, sturdy grip of Sam’s fingers already. 

The layout of the course is a mix of your standard mini-golf stuff (at least from what Dean’s seen from movies) and then some fancier decor. There’s a lighthouse, a bunch of man-made waterfalls, and a clown’s face which Sam is hilariously scared of. Dean teases him mercilessly.

“Forgot about that damn thing,” Sam grumbles when it takes him four over par to get his ball into the clown’s nose. 

That little mishap puts Dean in the lead and she whoops, fist pumping the air. The game is competitive, fun, and flirty. In the end, Dean just edges Sam out for the win, and they get ice cream inside before leaving. 

She can’t remember the last time she had so much fun. 

It’s only when they pull back into the lot of Bobby’s place that the low heat between them that’s been present all night (hell, all day) simmers once more. 

“Walk you to the door?” Sam says, laughing at himself as he kills the engine. 

Dean chuckles back. “Why, sure. I mean, I’d invite you in, but the place ain’t mine.” 

“Too bad,” Sam deadpans as they exit his car. There’s a light breeze around them as they walk up to the front porch. 

Sam stops in front of the door instead of reaching for the key -- like he still wants to continue their game -- so Dean does too. He looks down at her, the few inches of height separating them somehow seeming larger now in the quiet of the night. 

Then Sam reaches out, this time not going for Dean’s hand but her cheek. His index finger strokes a faint line down in face, stopping right at the corner of her lips. 

Dean swallows hard, shivering.

Sam smiles shakily as he leans forward and down, pressing their foreheads together in a move that’s so intimate it has Dean’s breath catching in her chest. Sam’s finger hasn’t moved -- and there’s barely any pressure to his touch -- but Dean still feels pinned down by it. Their eyes lock and hold. 

“You’re so beautiful.” His breath is whisper-hot against her lips, and his eyes never leave her as he says the words. With anyone else Dean would be rolling her eyes, assuming it was a line to ensure she puts out tonight. But Sam is stroking her cheek with two fingers now; like she’s something precious, breakable. 

Dean doesn’t get called beautiful. She gets called hot, sexy, gorgeous, fine. She’s always felt too hardened for a word as delicate as “beautiful.” 

She trembles, tongue inching out to lick at her too dry lips. Sam’s gaze darts between her eyes and the motion. “You’re the kinda guy that asks before he kisses a girl, aren’t you?” Her voice is rough, uneven. 

Sam bites his lip. He ducks his head, his soft bangs tickling against Dean’s forehead. It’s answer enough. 

“You don’t have to ask me, Sam,” Dean whispers into the space between them.

If their first touch had been like electricity, then Sam closing the distance between their lips is like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Dean never bought into bullshit romantic sentiments like that before. Not even with Cassie, who was far from the first woman she’d slept with, but the only person in _general_ who had genuinely mattered up until this point. She’d made Dean want to stay. 

She’s feeling the same way now, here with Sam. Alarm bells are going off in her head, but Dean ignores them. Ignores them all and kisses Sam harder, wrapping an arm around his neck and pressing up on her toes. Dean parts her lips and Sam’s tongue slowly inches inside, causing them both to gasp quietly. 

It stays at that pace way for ages, slow and deep and wet as they lick into one another’s mouths, swallowing moans under the dim light of the porch. 

When they finally break away, Dean is trembling even harder, and Sam isn’t faring much better. 

“Getting late,” Sam says, his voice thick and an octave lower. It’s fascinating, to know what he sounds like turned on, how he moans. Dean wants to hear it all, wants to drown in those sounds. 

She also knows, clear as day, that they aren’t sleeping together tonight. That Sam means what he’s saying right now, not just as part of the first date cliche they were acting out. 

She’s oddly cool with it. This pace that they’ve set seems right, necessary. And Dean is pretty sure that when they do take it further, it’s going to be like the tide rushing in. 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “Better get some sleep. Early day.” 

Sam smiles at her, his lips red and kiss-swollen, his eyes dark with arousal. They walk hand in hand inside and kiss again in the living room before Sam walks away, quietly closing the door to his room. 

Dean doesn’t jerk off this time, just lies there and let’s the low hum of arousal consume her. 

It’s almost better than an orgasm.  
______________________________

The next day they rebuild the carburetor together, sun shining down on them as they work. Dean could easily fix it alone, but it feels kind of right doing this with Sam. They’ve also been stupidly ridiculous about one another today, sharing secret smiles while undoubtedly thinking about last night’s kiss. They haven’t kissed again, but Dean’s caught Sam looking at her lips more than once, and Dean’s definitely found herself doing the same. She feels like a teenager again, swooning over the cutest boy at one of the many schools she’d get dropped in. 

When Dean’s behind the wheel and Sam’s bent over the hood, telling her to “Try ‘er out,” she smiles and turns the key in the ignition. Just like that, her baby comes to life, the rumbling hum of the engine wrapping around her like a warm blanket. 

“Hey, girl,” she whispers, smiling and caressing the steering wheel. 

Sam peers around the hood and watches on with a fond smile on his face. 

“Shut up,” Dean says, wiping conspicuously at her eye. Whatever, she’s allowed to get choked up over a car. It’s the only real home she’s ever had. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam replies, hands raised and lips still twisted in that too-fond smile. 

Dean flips him off. She kills the engine and jumps out of the driver’s side. “C’mon, let’s celebrate! My treat.” 

Sam’s smile widens, his eyes shining as he looks down at her. They’re standing closer than Dean realized and she swallows hard, caught up in everything that is Sam. “Where we goin?” 

She steps back, dragging a hand through her hair. “To wherever the best damn dive bar this town has to offer is.” 

Sam laughs in delight, and they race each other inside the house to get ready. Dean can’t remember the last time she’s felt so carefree, like the world isn’t filled with literal monsters and demons. Like she truly has nowhere better to be than with this beautiful boy, going out on _premeditated_ dates for god’s sake. It feels like she’s living someone else’s life, like it’s too good to be true and she should be waiting for the next shoe to drop. 

Instead, she brushes the thought off and gets ready.  
______________________________

_Tonight, tonight the strip's just right_  
_I want to blow 'em off in my first heat_  
_Summer's here and the time is right_  
_For racin' in the street_  


Dean drives, even though Sam’s the one who knows where they’re going. She doesn’t care how much she likes this guy; he isn’t driving her baby. She didn’t dress up this time, just threw on her trusty blue and white checkered flannel, buttoned up to her cleavage with her white tank top underneath. She’d grabbed her leather jacket too, even if it might be too hot for it. 

(When she’d stepped out of the bathroom, Sam’s eyes had immediately gone to her rack. He’d flushed and looked away upon realizing. Dean had smiled at how simultaneously cute and hot that was. Plus, it was the exact reaction she’d been hoping to receive.)

Dean parks in the dirt lot of some hole in the wall bar, just off one of the backroads in town. It’s an unassuming small building and precisely what she’d been aiming for. And based on one of the cars in the lot, she has a feeling she might be able to pick up that race she’d been angling for before breaking down. 

But she also wants to enjoy this time with Sam, feels excitement fluttering under her rib cage just at being out with him like this. It’s more her speed than the mini golf was. It feels like she’s taking Sam inside her world for a little bit. She leaves her jacket in the car and steps outside. 

Sam holds the heavy wood door of the bar open for her. Dean rolls her eyes but walks through in front of him anyway. This guy. 

The bar is dimly lit, smokey and perfect. There are two pool tables toward the back, a jukebox off to the side, and a decent list of beers on tap. Dean walks up to the bar, Sam hot on her heels. The bartender gives her a once over and then Sam’s right there, at her shoulder, making it pretty darn clear they’re together. A thrill goes through her at Sam possibly being the jealous type. It isn’t something she’s ever liked on a dude before, but Sam is breaking all her damn rules and then some. Dean orders a local IPA that’s on tap and makes fun of Sam when he orders a Bud Light. 

Sam scowls and nudges his shoulder against hers, mumbling “Shut up.” Sometimes he seems like an overgrown kid and not some dude in law school; Dean loves it. She walks over to the jukebox, not unaware of the number of eyes in the place that follow her. Any other night she might be sizing up how she could get more out of the evening than a wad full of cash from hustling pool or drag racing, but tonight she’s only got eyes for Sam. It’s a scary thought, makes her pause as she’s flicking through the CDs in the jukebox. Her breath stutters in her chest, and she continues, stopping on Dancin’ in the Dark. 

Dean grins as she turns around, the heavy beat of the opening chords coming over the speakers. Her hips move immediately to it, and she feels loose and relaxed. Sam lets out a laugh she can’t actually hear. He’s leaning back against the bar, all broad shoulders, and casual slouch. Dean’s never seen anything more gorgeous. 

She saunters back over to him, swaying her hips in a half-dance, feeling silly and playful and strangely okay with letting him see that side of her. Dean hums to the beat beneath her breath as she approaches, Sam’s eyes never leaving her. His bright smile drops away as his gaze drags down her body, replaced by something dark and hungry. Heat pools low in Dean’s belly. She hip-checks Sam as she reaches the bar, taking a sip of her now waiting beer. 

“Haven’t been to a bar in a while,” Sam admits. 

Dean arches an eyebrow in his direction. “Yeah? Figured they probably got a great college town vibe in Palo Alto.” 

Sam nods as he takes a long gulp of his drink. “Kinda tough to party in law school, though. I’m either working or studying or sleeping.” 

Dean whistles. “Sounds rough, Sammy.” 

Sam gives her a crooked smile. “Yeah, my friends are sick of me.” 

Dean smiles broadly at that. For some reason, thinking of Sam with a group of friends makes her happy down to her core. She’s never felt this protective, this _invested_ in someone’s well-being. It’s like instinct kicks in when she’s around Sam. She can barely explain it to herself and would never _think_ of trying to explain it to Sam. And yeah, it’s freaking her out, especially since this is just a pit stop in the long winding road that is her life, but she’s going to bask in it while she can anyway. 

“Been even longer since I was in one while on a date,” Sam says while Dean is still lost in thought, so quietly she nearly misses it. His head is ducked and it’s once again terribly endearing. She recalls him mentioning his breakup and really fucking hopes she’s not a rebound.

“Well... this gun’s for hire,” she half-sings just as Bruce does the same over the speakers, smirking. 

Sam loses any lingering cloudiness in his eyes, laughing delightedly. “Oh yeah? Is it?” 

“Mmhmm. You and me and five bucks.” 

Sam throws his head back, dimples donning his cheeks. “Think I’m gettin’ a bargain there.” 

“Well,” Dean says, turning into him so they’re nearly chest to chest, her breasts hovering just inches away from his body. “I don’t come easy. Might be time I whoop your ass in pool just to show you who’s boss.” She downs the rest of her beer in one gear while Sam lets out a now strangled laugh. 

His voice is rough when he says, “Yeah? Bring it on, Deanna.”

Dean’s eyes flash. “Oh, I _will_ , Samuel.” 

They smile dumbly at one another for another beat, and it’s so good this flirtation. She never wants it to end. 

Dean racks up the balls at the empty pool table while Sam blows on the cue like a moron. 

“You’re going down, buddy boy.” 

Sam grins. “We’ll see about that.” 

It sounds like a double entendre, and Dean’s so taken aback she fumbles the cue in her hands. 

“Bastard,” she mutters under her breath as Sam steps up to break. 

They circle each other like a dance, ribbing one another. It’s just another form of foreplay. Dean wins, but it’s pretty close. 

“You sure you don’t hustle pool at Stanford, college boy?” 

Sam laughs, neck thrown back. She’ll never tire of that sight. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Nice game,” a guy from the next table calls over at them. He’s a total greaser; it was now obvious who owned the souped-up Camaro out front. 

“Thanks,” Dean says. She has a feeling her wallet would be heavier soon. “Wanna go doubles?” 

Sam looks at her in surprise, and Dean shoots him a wink. 

“Sure,” the greaser’s friend says, smiling smugly. 

_Oh, this is just too easy._

“Follow my lead,” Dean says in Sam’s ear before they head to the other table. She drops a kiss on his neck, his skin hot beneath her lips. 

“Awww, ain’t that cute,” Greaser says. 

Oh yeah, too fucking easy. 

Five minutes later, Dean’s made it so they’re betting a hundred bucks. Ten minutes later, she’s deliberately missing shots and throwing looks at Sam to do the same. As predicted, the guys up the bet. Five minutes after that, they’re both being handed a hundred bucks each, Frank and Eddie scowling over their loss. 

_Time for phase two._

“Hey, that sweet Camaro out front. That one of yours?” 

“Yeah! She’d be mine,” Frank, formerly Greaser, says proudly. 

Dean nods. “Thought it might be,” she says, so sugar sweet that Sam sniggers under his breath. She steps in close to wrap an arm around him while giving him a subtle pinch to the side. “Got an Impala myself. Would really love to find a race.”

Frank and Eddie share a look. 

Dean waits for it in three, two...

“Actually, there’s a darn good strip not too far from here. Couple of us locals use it a few nights a week. Be willing to show it to you if we can work somethin’ out.” 

Dean arches an eyebrow. “Yeah? What might that be?”

“Double or nothin’, the pool winnings.” 

_Hook, line, and sinker_. 

“Buddy, you’re on.”  
_______________________

“You sure this is a good idea?” Sam hisses in her ear as they’re walking out of the bar. 

“Trust me, Sammy. I’ve raced guys just like these two buffoons in multiple states.” 

Frank and Eddie are already standing by their car, looking like the smug shits they are.

“We’ll just follow you,” Dean says, tossing her keys in the air and catching them. 

“Uh huh,” Frank says. “Don’t you two lovebirds get distracted or anything.” 

Dean rolls her eyes, and Sam huffs out his chest. 

They follow Frank and Eddie off the main road to some winding back ones. Sam doesn’t say anything, just keeps throwing Dean worried looks while biting his lip. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is. They finally come across a wide dirt strip that goes down as far as Dean as can see before curving around a bend. 

She kills the engine and whistles. “Shouldn’t be that hard.”

Sam sputters. “Shouldn’t — Dean, this is — look, I’m no car racer but this isn’t even a road, really.” 

“Well, no, it’s a fire road, Sammy,” she says patiently, causing him to roll his eyes. “And my baby can take it.”

Sam sighs and turns to her in the passenger seat, giving Dean a great view of those big, hazel puppy dog eyes. She doesn’t waver.

Instead, Dean leans over and kisses him like she’s wanted to all fucking day. Sam opens up to her immediately, and he tastes like beer and summertime. She’s just about to lick her way deep into his mouth when there’s a rap on the window. 

Dean pulls away with an eye roll and finds Eddie looking in the window with a dumb smirk on his lips. 

She ignores him, turning back to Sam. “It’ll be fine,” she whispers, leaning in to give him one last slow kiss before grabbing her leather jacket and opening the door. She always wears it during races, knew there was a reason she’d decided to take it along tonight. 

“Ready to do this?” Dean asks Frank, shrugging her arms into the sleeves. She shoves her hands in pockets of her jeans and bounces on the balls of her feet. 

“Yeah, unless you two would rather be alone.” 

Dean scoffs. “Whatever, man, I’m not the one about to lose more money.” 

Frank laughs. “Okay, girlie. This is a mile loop. Pretty straightforward.” 

She ignores the fact that she’d love to wrap her hands around his neck for that “girlie” comment and nods. “Sounds good. Who’s counting us off?” 

Frank jerks his head toward Sam. “Your boy there is pretty enough for it.” 

“Aww, jealous?” 

Frank rolls his eyes, but there’s a faint blush staining his cheeks. “We gonna do this or what?” 

Dean laughs, throwing her head back. “ _So_ impatient to lose that money, Frankie.” She turns to Sam, looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Sorry, I ain’t got no locket to give you or anything.” 

Sam looks puzzled for a moment before barking out a laugh. “S’okay, Cha-Cha, just win for me.” 

Dean winks at him, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “You know it, doll.” 

She heads over to her baby and smiles at Sam through the windshield when he gets in position to count them off. Frank _was_ right, Sam is more than pretty enough for this shit. They should sell tickets. 

She looks to her left, sees Frank with that same smug look on his face. Eddie’s off to the side of Sam, out of the way of the cars, pumping his fist in the air like a moron. The adrenaline slowly begins pumping through her veins. 

Sam raises his arms in the air, lets them fall as he leans backward. Dean _nearly_ gets distracted by the curve of his body, but recovers quickly enough and jumps into the lead immediately. The terrain is sandy, lots of gravel that makes for an uneven ride but her baby’s taking it just fine. They come up on the first curve; Dean’s still a few hundred feet ahead, but Frank’s doing better than she expected. She takes a hard turn around the bend and then floors it, leaving Frank in the dust as they even out. It gets close again around the next sharp turn, but she’s got this shit, whooping and hitting her hand against the steering wheel in delight. As she comes back up to the first stretch of road she can see Sam in the distance, practically feels the nervous energy flowing off him. She’s still got the lead, isn’t going to lose it now. As she approaches, Sam jumps in the air like a fool, shouting. Dean’s never had this much fun at a race, never felt this _joyful_ during one. That seems to be a running theme so far in her interactions with Sam. 

She crosses the faux finish line and kills the engine. Frank shows up about ten seconds later. Dean’s already out of the car, her eyes only on Sam, who’s smiling so fucking big like she just won NASCAR or something. Dean launches herself at him, not giving a fuck if Frank and Eddie are watching. Sam catches her immediately, their mouths colliding in a hot, adrenaline filled kiss.

“Best two out of three!” she hears Frank yell, and laughs against Sam’s mouth, trailing off on a moan as he sucks her lower lip between both of his. 

Dean forces herself to break away, turns to look at her defeated opponents. “Don’t think so, Frankie boy. Not what we agreed on.” 

Frank scowls and ponies up the dough with a huff. Dean counts it out then fans it in their faces. “Been a pleasure, boys!” 

“If you want a rematch, we’re at the bar most nights.” 

Dean’s already walking off with Sam by her side, and his arm slung low around her waist. She raises her hand in a wave but doesn’t turn around, muttering, “Yep, I’m sure you are.”

Sam chuckles, his hand slipping just above the curve of her ass. Dean shivers at the touch of his fingers, body brimming with the best kind of tension. The air is thick around them as they walk to the car and it doesn’t dissipate as she tosses her jacket onto the floor of the back seat or when they get their seatbelts on. 

“So,” Dean breathes, turning to look at Sam at the same time she starts the engine. She feels oddly nervous, and it isn’t like her, none of this is -- like her. 

“So,” Sam echos, voice a little rough. Jesus. 

Whatever, she’s just going to go for it. “You wanna park somewhere and neck?” She says it cheesy, ironic; like they really are living out some _Grease_ -induced fantasy. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Sam replies, dead serious, and while she’s hoping he wants to do more than “neck,” it’s also the exact answer Dean was hoping for. 

She peels off the fire road and onto the main one in record speed.  
______________________________

_Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy_  
_Out in the backseat of my ‘60 Chevy_  


Dean drives until she finds a patch of woods off the main road, turning down onto the dirt and parking until they’re out of sight from any potential cars that may drive by. 

She kills the engine, shrouding them in darkness. The only light is that of the moon and some twinkling stars. Dean can still see Sam clear as day, flicks of gold in his hazel eyes bright and shining.

They move at the same time, lips connecting like magnets. Sam kisses her soft, slow, barely using any tongue at first, just capturing her lips between his own, suckling and nipping gently. It makes Dean shiver from head to toe, the way he’s so damn careful with her, always so fucking careful. They get their hands in one another’s hair, the intensity of the kiss increasing. She coaxes Sam’s lips open, slides her tongue inside and then they’re off and running, nothing but the sounds of their breathing growing more ragged with each passing second, and quiet moans getting swallowed up by their mouths. 

Dean’s got her hands running up and down Sam’s back. Sam’s are planted firmly on her shoulders, his thumbs grazing up and down the sides of her neck in a maddingly teasing pace.  
Dean breaks away from the heaven that is Sam’s mouth and drags her own along his jaw and up to his ear. “This foreplay is great and all, Sammy, but if you don’t touch me soon I might just have to do it myself.”

She nips at his ear, eliciting a sharp gasp. Sam pulls back, their gazes locking. Sam’s eyes flash with what she can only describe as feral lust. Then Dean’s being tugged forward and maneuvered until she’s sitting in Sam’s lap, straddling his thighs in the passenger seat. 

Sam dives in first this time, kissing her hard and desperate. His hands are still slow, though, as they finally -- _finally_ slide down her chest. He cups her tits, squeezes them gently. Dean arches her back, letting out a low moan, her skull nearly hitting the dash. Her mouth drops open on a silent gasp as Sam thumbs her nipples, teasing in a circle. He pinches each of them, and she cries out sharply. 

She hears Sam’s intake of breath, his fingers never stopping. “God, you don’t know how crazy you make me. Wanna touch you all the time.” 

Her eyelids flutter; she hadn’t even realized they’d fallen shut. “You can.” 

Sam groans and Dean straightens up again, has to look at him, see all this. She’s rewarded with a hot mouth on her neck when she does, Sam kissing and biting, showing her just how much he wants her. 

Dean grinds against him, right where she wants it, and grins down at him. “That a lug wrench in your pocket, Sammy?” 

Sam lifts his head and even in the barely there light Dean can still see the dark flush on his cheeks, see how kiss-swollen his lips are. “Uh, no. All me.” 

Dean grinds down again, slower, the friction of their jeans maddening and the heat of her cunt dragging right against the long -- jesus christ _long_ \-- length of him. Her mouth waters. “My god. I’m grateful.” 

Sam moans and locks his arms around her, pulling her in close so her tits are flush against him. There’s barely any space between them now; Dean entangled by this gorgeous, clean-cut boy who shouldn’t be able to rev her engine this hard without even getting her clothes off yet. 

“I can’t do foreplay right now,” Dean gasps into Sam’s mouth as he starts palming up and down her back, underneath her shirt and teasing along her bra. “I need you inside me.” 

“Yes,” Sam gasps back before pressing his hips up _just so_ and fuck, Dean is so wet.

“Backseat,” she orders, climbing off his lap and bouncing down hard on the driver’s seat. She drags a hand through her tangled mess of hair and exhales shakily. Sam gets out the door, not-so-subtly adjusting himself as he goes, while Dean reaches over to grab the stuff out of the glove department. She doubts they’ll need the KY warming lube -- she’s been soaking her underwear for this guy since the second she laid eyes on him -- but takes it anyway. 

Dean sheds her flannel before climbing over the bucket seat and landing upright in the back. Sam’s grinning at her brightly from his spot across from her. “Impressive.” 

“You know it,” she says smugly before pulling him in for another searing kiss. 

Sam’s hands are everywhere, finally losing their experimental nature. Up her arms, over her shoulders, down the expanse of her back, over her ass and squeezing. Dean climbs into his lap again, and they both help her out of her tank top. And then it’s Sam’s _mouth_ that is everywhere. On her jaw, her neck, her collarbones, and finally, finally her tits, first through her black bra and then beneath it as Sam strips it off and starts worshiping her with his mouth and tongue and teeth. 

It’s like her body was made for him. She can’t remember being this hot for someone this fast, can’t remember the last time it felt like she could come just from getting her tits sucked. But she’s so close right now, Sam’s mouth licking at her and his huge hands cupping her, fondling and caressing, his mouth emanating the most amazing moans like he’s getting off on this just as hard as Dean is. 

“Christ, I said no more foreplay,” Dean moans into Sam’s hair, her words weak and her fingers tightening on his biceps. She isn’t used to drawing it out like this, someone taking all their time on her. And it feels fucking amazing, but right now she needs his dick more than anything. 

“Okay,” Sam says, voice wrecked, his words vibrating against the valley between her breasts. “But later. Later.” 

“Shit, yes, anything,” Dean breathes, loving that Sam wants it this much, too. That he’d probably spend forever doing everything with her _but_ fucking. And what a novel concept that is. 

Then Dean’s on her back on the seat and Sam is kneeling over her, stripping her of her jeans. He drags his fingers over her red lace underwear, quirking an eyebrow in her direction. 

“Wouldn’t have pegged you as the type,” Sam says, voice teasing. 

“They make me feel pretty,” Dean shrugs, as noncommittedly as one can when they’re nearly naked and spread out on the backseat of a car. To be honest, she usually wears boxers or boxer briefs, but when she’s wearing shorts (or when she wants to feel really fucking sexy) she pulls out the lace or the thongs. They were an introduction from Rhonda Hurley, the first chick she ever banged. 

Sam seems to appreciate them, if the way he ducks down and places a sucking kiss to the center of her pussy is anything to go by, his tongue pointed as it drags over the fabric. Dean gasps, and suddenly she can’t fucking wait until they have time to do this slowly, in a bed. That mouth is as amazing as it has been all over the rest of her body and it’s no exception here. And Sam seems like the type of guy that won’t stop until he knows his partner is satisfied and maybe then some. 

She pushes Sam back until he’s kneeling between her spread legs and gets her hands on his fly. Sam’s breathing hitches and she can see him wet his lips, see his eyes flutter shut. She finally gets his shirt off, and then Dean pulls him down, needing to feel all that skin. They work on his jeans together, while kissing and touching and licking and biting. Dean wishes she’d put some music on, the silence oppressive aside from the moans and broken-off words falling from their lips which are almost too honest, too vulnerable in the darkness. 

When they’re both finally naked, save for their underwear, Sam shifts down onto her, covering Dean with his body. It feels right, vital, like he’s always belonged right here. She shakes the thoughts from her head, loses herself instead in the way Sam kisses her, the way the head of his dick snags against her cunt, the way he teases her with the pressure of it until she’s gasping and clawing at his back as he mouths at her breasts.

They pull at one another’s underwear and awkwardly get them down their legs. Then Sam’s sitting up between her thighs again and Dean’s ripping open the condom with her teeth. She rolls it on him with two hands and jacks him slowly, getting her hand on that perfect, huge dick, watching him shudder and shake between under her grip until his knees can’t hold him up any longer and he falls forward. 

“You ready?” Sam mumbles against her lips. 

“More than,” Dean breathes out shakily. 

He drags his dick over her folds before pushing slowly inside. She gasps. He’s bigger than anyone she’s ever been with, testing the size of the condom that’s for sure, and she can’t wait for him to fill her up. She wants to feel it, wants the ache in both her cunt and her bones for days after. 

Sam kisses her everywhere he can as he inches in deeper; her mouth, her jaw, her neck, her shoulder blades. Dean wraps her legs higher around him, her heel rubbing against the curve of his ass. She can hear herself making small gasps as he sinks in deep until there’s nowhere else for him to go, balls flush against her, body pressed up tight against her own. Until there’s no telling where she ends and Sam begins. Once again, it feels like coming home. Except she never truly had a home, not one free of pain or sorrow. Sam -- Sam is a breath of fresh air, and Dean wants to inhale him. 

And so she does the only thing she can, and urges him on, forces him to fuck her the way she needs it. The way her mind and body and _goddamnit her heart_ are each craving. 

“You feel amazing,” Sam whispers as he starts to move, spurred on by Dean’s own hands that have started pulling at his back and the heels of her feet pushing at his ass. “So fucking good, Dean.” 

“Sammy,” is all she can say, lost in his voice and his body and everything, everything that’s narrowed her whole world down to _Sam, Sam, Sammy_ , a person she didn't even fucking know existed until a few days ago, yet it feels like she’s never been without. 

Her mouth falls open on a gasp as he pulls backs and slides in deeper. “Christ, fuck me, don’t stop. Fuck me, baby.” 

“Oh my god,” Sam replies weakly, but he does just that, gives it to her just like she needs it. Hard and fast, grinding against her clit just right, giving her all of it, everything. “Should’ve known you’d be a dirty talker,” Sam gasps against her mouth, and Dean lets her lips curve into a smile. 

“Maybe I’m getting too predictable already,” she muses while tightening around him, making him gasp. “The mystery is gone.”

“Christ, I’m not complaining.” 

And then there’s no more talking except breathy moans of each other’s names, bit-off gasps, and Dean crying out, “There, oh god, right there,” as she comes on Sam’s dick, him fucking her through one orgasm and then taking her to another before he stills and tenses and comes with her name on his lips. 

After, he stays inside her for long minutes. Normally, Dean hates that. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, and she needs her space. But Dean’s steadily learning there’s nothing normal when it comes to Sam and lets it happen, wants it, even. He traces a pattern along her skin, and when she recognizes what it is, she can’t help but laugh. 

She turns to him, hair a frizzy mess, blowing it out of her eyes with her lips. “Do I look like I’m at risk for possession?” 

Sam grins brilliantly at her. “Can never be too sure.” Then he’s leaning in and kissing her, soft and sweet and perfect, holding her chin between two fingers and licking at her mouth lazily. Dean gives herself over to it, and they make out like teenagers until Sam has to dispose of the condom. 

They dress, never looking away from one another beneath their eyelashes. Sam is blushing, even after he fucked her like some sex god, and Dean will never stop loving that about him. She can’t wait to see him go crazy from her mouth on his dick. She sucks cock like a pro and Sam’s dick is gorgeous, worthy of all the blowjobs from here to Palo Alto. 

She deliberately searches around in the glove compartment for her Bob Seger tape, fast-forwarding to Night Moves before taking off, the ache in her cunt perfect and causing her to shift in the seat just like she wanted. 

She waits until Sam realizes where she was going with the song selection, is rewarded with a shocked laugh and a facepalm. “Oh my god, you’re shameless.” 

“Workin’ on those night moves, Sammy,” she grins over at him, eyebrows waggling salaciously. 

“It’s _Sam_ ,” he says, and then he’s laughing too, singing along. 

It’s more than perfect.  
______________________________

_We’ve got tonight, Babe_  
_Why don’t you stay_  


It’s late by the time they get back, but Dean isn’t tired, and Sam doesn’t seem to be either. By wordless agreement, they head toward the direction of Sam’s room, with no intention of sleeping. 

They’re on each other as soon as the door closes, Sam pressing Dean up against it, Dean climbing him like a tree the way she’s wanted to since he stepped out of that tow truck. 

She locks her legs around his waist, their mouths hot and hard on one another’s. Sam swings her around, walking them both back to the bed. Dean laughs into his mouth as they both fall onto the mattress with a bounce. 

Sam’s grinning as he kisses her again and Dean grins right back. It’s weird, smiling while you’re kissing. She could get used to it. 

But there are other things she wants to be doing, too. Dean rolls them over, sitting up in Sam’s lap and deliberating palming his hardening cock. 

Sam’s eyes never leave her, boring in and making her shiver. She teases him beneath her palm, gets him rock hard, then leans forward, cocooning them both with her hair and kissing Sam slow and deep, putting everything into it. Sam groans and tangles a hand in her hair, pressing up against her palm. 

“Want my mouth on you, Sammy?” she whispers, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth. 

“God, yes,” Sam moans. He’s a gorgeous sight, damp bangs against his forehead, rosey cheeks and spit-slick lips. Dean wants to take a photo, carry it in her wallet. 

“Gonna blow you,” she murmurs, working her way down his body, getting his shirt off, feeling his chest beneath her mouth, teeth scraping over one nipple and then the other. 

Sam’s pulling in deep breaths from his lungs, chest rising and falling under her lips. She starts working on his jeans for the second time tonight, considers just making him walk around naked all day, so they don’t even have to waste time. 

She parts the fabric, breathes in his scent, still smelling like sex and latex. He raises his hips, helps her get his jeans halfway down, and then she’s at his boxers, rubbing her cheek along his length, inching her tongue out to tease along the slit and where his dick is peaking out. Sam groans low in his chest and grips her shoulders gently, brushing his thumbs over her skin. 

She looks up at him with a grin. “You can put your hands in my hair. I like it rough.” 

Sam’s mouth drops open, and his pupils dilate. He doesn’t speak, just nods jerkily. 

Dean grins and gets his dick out before swallowing it down halfway without any preamble. 

Sam shouts, honest to god _shouts_ , and Dean relaxes her throat to take him even deeper. True, she’s never had someone this big, but she’s nothing if not a fast and enthusiastic learner. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh my god, Dean.” His fingers curl in her hair, scrape along her scalp, and then Sam pulls her forward, pulls her _down_ onto his dick, and it’s everything she wanted. She goes happily, taking him in even deeper, her gag reflex barely existent and oh how thankful she is for that. She hums around him, tongue sliding up his shaft while Sam grips her even harder. “Shit, oh my god, yes.” 

Dean moans and sucks him harder, faster, the two of them finding a rhythm together, Sam fucking upward while Dean pulls back and takes him in deep again. She’s so wet, just from this, the feel of his dick in her mouth, and the way he’s using her, taking her. This innocent baby-faced guy is trying to make her choke on his dick just the way she’s dying to. 

Dean pulls off all the way, circles her tongue around the head. “Fuck my mouth harder, baby. Make me take it.” 

“Christ…” Sam whispers faintly. “You sure?” 

Dean looks up, catches his eyes, his stupidly sincere honest eyes. “Yes.” 

And then she’s sucking him down again. Sam, after a moment's pause, pumps his hips up and pushes her down by the back of her head and god, god it’s everything. His scent is consuming her, and his dick is at the back of her throat, making her mouth water. She wants so badly to feel him fill her up, wants his come inside her. 

Sam is crying out, wordlessly, breathlessly. “Dean. Shit, babe, I’m gonna -- I’m gonna come.” 

Dean just sucks him harder, ignoring the “babe” despite the own endearments she’s been throwing out and moans her encouragement around him. 

And then he’s spiling in her mouth, sharp, bitter fluid that tastes better than her favorite roadside shake. Sam comes so hard; like he hasn’t already inside her once tonight. It’s so hot to think of it that way. That he’s been inside her twice tonight, in different ways. That she’s made him come this hard. She laps at him, easing up and off, licking every last drop. 

When she finally looks up, Sam’s eyes are closed. He’s sweaty and trembling with aftershocks. Dean groans and throws her tank top off (she never did put her bra back on) and climbs up him. 

Sam’s arms go around her immediately, eyes opening and focusing on her tits, just where she wanted them. 

“God,” he breathes reverently, as she all but shoves them in his face, straddling his chest. 

“Your turn to suck me now,” she whispers against his ear, before angling his head downward. 

He goes eagerly, lapping her right breast while palming her left, squeezing roughly. Dean groans, kissing his neck. She gasps when he bites down, puts her palms flat on the wall behind the bed. “Harder,” she groans, and Sam does, tugs at her, nips, kisses. Moves between her tits like he can’t get enough, like she’s all he’s ever wanted. 

“Let me eat you out,” he whispers against one nipple. “Wanna make you come again and again.” 

“Jesus,” Dean breathes, tipping her head back toward the ceiling. “I may never leave this bed.” 

Sam laughs, carefree and perfect, and flips them around until she’s spread out on the mattress. Then they’re moving at Sam’s pace, as he worships every inch of her that’s already naked, taking forever to finally rid Dean of her jeans. When he does, Sam makes himself comfortable between her legs, not bothering to take off her panties that are already soaked beyond repair. He just licks and sucks and gets them even wetter, breathing in her smell and nosing at her cunt. She’s trimmed but not fully shaved, doesn’t really like it. And if a dude she’s with minds (and some absolutely have) she gets right out of bed and tells them to grow the fuck up. Sam, though, Sam seems to love it. He buries his nose in her pubic hair when he’s finally eased down her underwear, licks at her, rubs his cheek against her. He takes his time like this is all he wants to be doing, all he can think of, and Dean slowly loses her mind at the sensations. When his mouth finally finds her clit she nearly screams, has to bite it back. Her hands clench in the sheets as he works her over, knowing just where to focus. And then his tongue is inside her, deep inside, and Dean’s hands go to Sam’s shoulders, nails digging in. 

“Sammy,” she breathes. “Oh, shit, right there.” He’s back at her clit, sucking hard, while one finger works inside her. She’s close, so goddamn close already. When he starts working his tongue harder and adds another finger, she’s there, tightening up against him, back arching and thighs tensing as she rides out the wave, moaning like a banshee. 

Sam doesn’t relent, spreads her and gets his tongue everywhere, eating her pussy with abandon, moaning his pleasure against her until she’s coming on his tongue again, body wracked with shudders. 

She pulls him up weakly, claims his mouth, tastes herself there. They roll onto their sides and kiss and kiss, until Sam is yawning against her lips and Dean’s getting ready to find her clothes and go back to the couch. 

“Stay,” Sam says, hand on her arm, tugging her back down. “Stay here.” 

She knows he means the bed, but it sounds like he’s asking for that and so much more. She never stays. Never. She stayed with Cassie, and all it did was fuck her up more. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

Dean settles back down, and Sam reaches out for her blindly, curling against her. She puts an arm around him, strokes his hair, and tries to figure out why leaving seems like it will be so fucking hard when she’s never wanted to stay any place for all that long anyway.  
______________________________

_She’ll let you in her heart_  
_If you’ve got a hammer and a vice_  


Dean barely sleeps, mostly stares at the ceiling all night, or at Sam’s relaxed, peaceful face half encased in moonlight. She has no reason to stay any longer, is the thing. Her baby is fixed, and she even made some extra cash. There is no reason at all to stick around Bobby’s when he isn’t even here, playing out a fantasy with some boy-next-door. 

And she’s ready to say just that. Ready to shake Sam awake, tell him it’s time she got moving, throw on her clothes and not look back. And then Sam opens his eyes and gives her the most brilliant, sleepy smile, and Dean knows she isn’t leaving this bed. 

She kisses him, morning breath and all, rolling him over until she’s on top. His hands drag down her back and over her ass, and they grind together like that until she’s gasping for him to fuck her. She had the foresight to bring the condoms in from the car last night and gets them from his where she’d tossed them on his dresser. And then she climbs onto his dick after rolling one on and rides him, slow and deep like they have all the time in the world; like she hadn’t just been about to cut and run. 

Sam doesn’t stop touching her; her back, her tits, her ribcage, her thighs, as she works herself on his dick, coming against his mouth with a soft cry and then coming again when he pushes her back and fucks her into the mattress. 

They crawl back up the bed and collapse against the pillows, kissing until Sam pulls her in close, so that she’s resting against his chest. 

“We gotta eat at some point,” Sam muses. 

“Do we?” 

Sam laughs and tilts Dean’s face up for a kiss. Dean rolls back on top of him, and then they’re off and running again. 

Whatever. It’s sex. Sex is great. There’s no reason for her to leave. 

She tells herself that’s all it is when they’re showering together later, kissing like fucking honeymooners. Tells herself it when Sam insists on making her breakfast in bed even though it’s now after 1 p.m. Tells herself it when they’re curled up on the couch, watching bad movies. Tells herself it when they’re out in the yard and she’s teaching Sam all the things she knows about cars that he still doesn’t. 

Tells herself it when he asks if he can take her to dinner someplace that isn’t casual or a dive bar. 

“You don’t have to wine me and dine me, Sammy, I’m kind of a sure bet now.” 

Sam flushes and rolls his eyes. “Just -- please? I’d like to.” 

So Dean lets him, because she can’t say no, can’t imagine ever denying Sam anything. And she doesn’t hate the idea as much as she expected to. She has one dress to her name, uses it mainly when she’s going undercover on a job and needs something a little more -- feminine. It’s white and yellow and comes up to her thighs. Sam can’t stop looking at her. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and a black blazer and black pants. It must be something from his law school attire. 

“I feel dumb,” she admits. 

Sam steps up to her. “You look gorgeous,” he says quietly. “Although, I do prefer the flannel.” 

Dean blushes and grins up at him. “Shut up, Sammy,” before kissing him long and slow. 

It’s kind of torturous, this whole dating thing. She doesn’t know how people do it. As far as Dean’s concerned, there’s no point of dates once you've done the deed. But Sam -- that’s obviously not how he works, along with most of the world. Sam seems to enjoy going out with Dean just for the hell of it. Dean, meanwhile, really wants to get home so they can fuck again now that they’ve crossed that bridge. 

But -- it _is_ kind of nice. Going to a place that requires a reservation, sitting at a table with white linen. There’s a wine list and Sam -- well, he has no idea what to order, a panicked look gracing his face. Which means he probably didn’t do the fancy thing in college with his ex-girlfriend. Yet he’s doing it here, in Sioux Falls, with Dean. It’s a terrifying thought, one that should have her heading to the bathroom and climbing out the window. The image of Sam’s crestfallen face, though, is like a dagger to her heart, so she stays put. 

Dean is in deep, is the thing, and it’s only going to get worse the longer she stays. Plus Bobby will be back soon and there’s no way in hell Dean is going to be hooking up with Bobby’s little protégé right under Bobby’s nose. 

“You’re quiet,” Sam says, when the wine is finally in front of them, some white that the waiter ended up suggesting. Dean could’ve just gone for a beer or a whiskey. 

“Sorry,” she says, placing her hands flat on the table. “I -- don’t really know what I’m doing,” she admits, the vulnerability of her words hard to swallow. 

Sam looks surprised, and then he’s laughing, relief evident. “Neither do I, really.” 

Dean rolls her eyes. “C’mon, man, you were in a long-term relationship. You’re probably a pro.” 

Sam smiles, a little sadly. “Yeah, well. ‘Was’ being the operative word. I didn’t always know what I was doing there, either. And we were both really busy with school; priorities were kind of different. It was good with Jess, until it wasn’t.” 

Dean hums. Sam reaches over, takes her hand. “Dean, I -- look, I know we haven’t known each other long but -- I feel this connection with you. God, I probably sound so cheesy, right? Like I’m feeding you some line, but I--”

“No,” she says abruptly. “You don’t -- I mean, I feel it too.” She looks up at him, eyes wide. “It’s weird and shit, but I do, Sammy.” 

Sam’s smile is one of his most brilliant yet and Dean can’t help but return it tenfold. She knows then that she won’t be leaving yet.  


The rest of the date is good. Conversation flows easily, and the getting to know you process that always seemed tedious is suddenly exhilarating. They took Sam’s car because he insisted on driving this time and Dean still won’t let him drive her baby (she has her limits, okay, fantastic sex notwithstanding). 

They get back to Bobby’s and kiss at the door, kiss in the hall, kiss all the way to Sam’s bedroom. Then they strip one another of their fancy clothes and fall naked together onto the bed. Sam wants to drag it out again, and it feels so much like lovemaking, like nothing she’s ever done before. When he’s finally inside her again, it’s slow and lazy and perfect. He calls her “Dee” when he comes, a soft exhaled breath. Nothing has ever felt more intimate. 

They doze off for a bit, wake up and 69 each other until they’re both panting and gasping. At some point, Dean must fall asleep because she wakes up in Sam’s arms. Instead of feeling terrified, she feels so damn comfortable. 

Which, in turn, is terrifying in it’s own right.  
______________________________

Dean tries to reach Bobby through Rufus, but there’s no service. She’s going to demand Bobby get a cell phone after this. What if he’s in danger and she has no way of helping him? Dean thinks about all the jobs she’s missing while hanging around here, playing house with Sam (they make breakfast together, work on cars together, make dinner together, do laundry together, and get ready for bed at night, sharing a sink as they brush their teeth). Dean hasn’t even so much as looked at a paper to try and find a case the entire time she’s been here. 

She supposes she can stay until she either reaches Rufus and knows Bobby’s okay or until Bobby gets back. It would be nice to see him again; she’s kept her distance for too long. Still, she’s getting antsy, and she knows Sam can tell. 

He indulges her, goes with her to bars, helps her hustle in pool. They pick up another race with Eddie and Frank (because those morons just can’t get enough) and this time Sam rides shotgun with her. It feels too right, Sam in that passenger seat beside her, just like everything else has. That time when they drive out to the woods afterward, Sam does her in the front seat, Dean’s face pressed up against the windowpane and Sam behind her, fucking in deep and slow and far too good. Then they go home and do it all again, screwing on the couch (they folded up the sofa bed after that first night) and laughing into one another’s mouths that they’d better not leave stains. It’s so easy to pretend it’s their house, their town, their lives. Terror settles deep in her gut at how natural it all feels, at how the word “home” is slowly becoming synonymous with “Sam.”

Dean tries to fuck it up after that because that’s who she is, flirts one night with a bartender while making sure Sam is watching. All it succeeds in is Sam fucking her in the one-stall bathroom of the bar, her legs around his waist and her back against the stall door. Apparently Sam can get as jealous as Dean can and _fuck_ , if it doesn’t make her come so hard. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam apologizes later when they’re in bed after fucking again, this time slow and sweet and everything Dean doesn’t know how to accept. “You can -- I mean, obviously you can flirt with people. We’re not--” 

Dean cuts him off with a kiss, not wanting to hear Sam reassure her that they aren’t exclusive or anything. But moreover, she needs to keep her own mouth busy lest she say, “We can be.” 

The rest of the week is different after that. Dean doesn’t flirt again. Instead, she does even dumber shit like holding Sam’s hand when they’re out in town, picking up something for the shop or just getting coffee. Sam looks pleased as punch each time, staring down at their hands like Dean’s done something magical and wondrous. 

_This is what it feels like to really date someone_ Dean thinks. _This is what it feels like to want to_. 

She gets three weeks, a week more than her time with Cassie (of which they never really left her dorm room, anyway). Three weeks of Sam and it’s scary and amazing and hot and perfect, with Dean learning so much about him and telling him so much of herself, so much she’s kept locked away before. 

And then Bobby comes back.  
______________________________

_Well everybody’s got a secret_  
_Something that they just can’t face_  
_Some folks spend their whole life tryin’ to keep it_  
_They carry it with them every step that they take_  


It’s her hunter instincts that make her hear it first, eyes snapping open. There’s someone in the house. Sam is a warm, solid weight against her back, and his arms are wrapped low around her waist. The sunlight is dim through the windows meaning it’s just about dawn. 

“Sam,” Dean hisses, body tense as she hears the floorboards creak. She usually sleeps with a gun under her pillow, but it’s not exactly sexy or practical when she’s getting banged hard into the mattress.

“Mmm, yeah?” Sam rasps, tightening his arms around her.

“Sam, I think someone’s—”

It’s all she gets out before the door is opening and the bedroom light is being turned on. 

“What on earth—” Bobby starts, blinking at the two of them before looking abruptly ill. “Oh my god.”

Dean winces and pulls the covers up around her as she and Sam immediately sit up. “Um… welcome home?” She offers, plastering on her most charming, rueful grin. 

Bobby’s not amused, gaping like a fish, eyes darting between them. It’s Dean he addresses, though. “What the fool hell you thinkin’, girl?” His voice is hard, angry. 

Dean’s instantly taken aback, unable to understand why he hasn’t turned away with a sheepish, “My apologies,” yet. 

Bobby has always let her alone when it comes to the people she hooks up with. Hell, he knew about Cassie and barely batted an eye. Bobby worries about Dean, but he also just wants her to be herself. So the fact that he’s so up in arms already over this development -- well, the only thing she can think of is that he feels she’s not good enough for someone like Sam. And that -- that fucking hurts, if true. 

“Bobby—” Sam starts, his arms still around Dean’s waist in a protective stance, but Dean presses a hand to his chest, stopping him. 

She looks at Bobby. “I’m thinking I’m a grown-ass woman and it’s my choice who I sleep with.”

Bobby looks even more nauseous now and Dean bristles at the sight, her whole body strung tight. 

“Sam, if you don’t mind I— need to have a word with Dean here.”

“Um, yeah, of course.”

“I’ll wait outside while you...” Bobby trails off as he gestures between them, looking horrified at his own words.

Dean glares at him as he leaves, the door shutting firmly behind him.

Sam presses a kiss to her shoulder, just above where the sheet is covering it. “I’m sorry if that was weird.” His voice is soft, tentative. 

“It’s fine,” Dean says, swinging her legs off the bed and reaching for her shirt. 

She hears Sam doing the same behind her. “Well, okay, if you say so. But he’s kind of like a father figure to both of us and—”

“It’s cool, Sammy,” Dean cuts him off, still feeling wound too tight. She shimmies into her underwear. “I’ll take care of it, alright?” 

They finish dressing and then kiss behind the closed door before opening it and walking out. Sam heads out the front door, holding onto Dean’s hand until he’s got no choice but to let go, the tips of their fingers brushing as they disconnect. Dean starts in the direction of the kitchen. Sure enough, Bobby is there, sitting at the table and staring down at his hands. 

“Could’ve at least put some coffee on,” she grumbles before taking a seat across from him. 

“Sam gone?” He asks, ignoring her. 

“Went out to the auto shop,” Dean sniffs. 

Bobby nods, still not looking at her. “Please tell me you used protection.” 

Dean stares at him. “Whoa, invasion of privacy much?” 

“I’m serious, Deanna,” Bobby replies, tension evident in his jaw. 

“Jesus Christ, yes, alright?” Dean blows out a breath, rolling her eyes. “I’m not stupid.” 

Bobby nods again and Dean bristles, giving voice to what’s been in her head since he opened that door. “So, what? A Winchester’s not good enough to have Sam Wesson’s babies?” 

Bobby’s eyes cut to her, and he looks abruptly horrified, his face almost green. He ignores her words, though,and instead replies with a dull, “I had no idea you were even here.”

Dean’s jaw goes tight. “Yeah, well, I tried to call Rufus a few times. There was no service.”

“Yeah,” Bobby replies, faint. “We were pretty off the grid.” He wrings his hands together and Dean shifts in her seat. 

“Okay, seriously, what gives with the disapproving father act, man? Is it because he’s your protégé or something?”

Bobby’s quiet for a long time. “No,” he finally replies evenly, before meeting Dean’s eyes and holding her gaze. “It’s because he’s your brother.”

Dean’s insides go cold. “What? What the hell are you talking about, Bobby?”

Except— except as soon as he says it, it’s like a jigsaw puzzle snapping into place. It makes more sense than anything in her life— before these last three weeks with Sam— ever has. 

Bobby’s sighs, frustration evident in every line of his body. “That boy out there— Sam Wesson, is— he’s your brother, girl.”

Still, she can’t. It can’t...

“Bobby, I swear to fucking god, this isn’t fun—“

Bobby cuts her off. “Your daddy hadn’t been thinking straight when he called me the night of the fire. Of course not, the idjit; he was grief-stricken and still mostly in shock. But he had a gut feeling Sam was in danger, that the thing had been in Sam’s room for a reason. So he asked me to take Sam, at least until he figured this out. I did, but it wasn’t before long that John called and said the only tips he could find pointed back to old Yellow Eyes wanting something from Sam. He was convinced he’d be safer off the grid, so I arranged for him to be adopted by some old friends of mine in California, the Wessons. Gave them the bare minimum basics, just enough so they took precautions. Devil’s traps under his bed and random rugs around the house, salt lines near the doors. It got a little tougher, though, when Sam went off to college. So, finally, I sat down and told him about the existence of monsters. I never did tell him he was adopted, though. Didn’t mention you or John.”

Dean, who’d been staring unfocused at a water stain on Bobby’s wall, starts at that and her gaze cuts to him sharply. 

Bobby has the decency, at least, to look guilty. “We -- both me and the Wessons -- thought it’d better that way. Knowing Sam, the fool kid would’ve taken off lookin’ for you both. Walk himself right into trouble. He had a full ride to Stanford, Dean. He’s bright, sharp. Your dad would’ve been proud.”

Dean shudders at the mention of her dad, at the memory of what she and Sam had been doing only mere hours ago in that bedroom. At the fact that her entire world had just been turned upside down. Sammy, her Sammy, was alive. And she’s— 

“So Sam’s -- Sam’s the bright, sharp one dad would’ve been proud of, but lowly ole’ hunter me didn’t deserve to know I had a brother.” She shakes with restrained anger, eyes squeezed shut and her stomach rolling at the word “brother” on her own lips. 

“Dean--” 

“Don’t,” she says, cold. “Why have I never seen him before now, if he’s been hangin’ around you?” 

“He’s only been coming up the past few summers. You haven’t been around much since your--” Bobby cuts himself off and Dean’s grateful for it. “Anyway, he does the books, helps me out. I’ve been training him for all the ‘just-in-cases’. Giving him the basics. Haven’t taken him on a hunt yet, because he’s still not sure if he wants any part of that life. He’s startin’ his second year of law school in the fall.”

Bobby sounds like the proud, doting parent and suddenly she’s even more furious. 

“I know,” Dean chokes out, shuts her eyes even tighter, head bowed. “He told me all that. More than you ever bothered to.” 

The rage builds up inside her. Fury at having missed out on Sam’s first words, his first steps, his first day of school. At not knowing when he had his first crush, his first kiss. That she wasn’t there when he got that Stanford acceptance letter or when he graduated, or when he was told that yes, monsters do exist. It wasn’t fair. It was so far away from fair, and she’d gone and — god. 

“I have to — I can’t—” Dean pulls herself up from the kitchen table, stumbles out the back door, barely makes it outside before she’s throwing up, the act as angry and violent as she’s feeling, bile sharp in her throat. 

She feels Bobby’s presence behind her a few moments later, straightens and wipes her mouth. “You should’ve told me,” she whispers, voice fierce, not turning around. 

“Dean, I’m so—”

“You should’ve fucking told me, Bobby, especially after Da—” she shakes her head, turns on her heel. “I was all alone. You had no right.”

Bobby’s eyes are sympathetic, remorseful. “Your daddy made me promise, Dean. Said especially if he died not to—”

“Fuck that, man, you questioned him on every move! Questioned him on giving up _Sam_ , apparently! You should’ve told me. And now — fuck, now…”

“You’re right,” Bobby replies, laying a hand on her shoulder. “You’re right. I should have. I never thought you two would meet, Deanna. I never thought…” He looks around them helplessly. Dean can only bark out a harsh laugh. 

“Yeah, well, now we’re right smack in the middle of one of those goddamn soap operas you pretend you don’t love and fuck if I know what to do.”

Bobby winces, face flushing. A chill runs through Dean at the thought of Bobby knowing she’s slept with her baby brother, having practically seen it. But worse than that, Dean shivers because, despite it all — the bombshell she’s just heard, the way her world has turned so upside down — she still wants to. She can’t — she’d love to just turn it off, to put Sam in the firm box labeled “brother” and be done with it. But when she thinks about him all she sees is the soft look in his eyes that he gets right before he kisses her, the shit-eating grin that he dons right after he’s made her come so hard from just his mouth, the miles of tanned skin spread out before her like a banquet as she bounces on his dick and his hands cup her breasts, so tenderly as if she’ll break even as he fucks up so deep inside her.

It should all disgust her now; every image, every memory, every wanton act they’ve performed in the last few weeks. It doesn’t, and that’s what breaks her heart. Because she knows she’ll never have a relationship with her brother, even now that she finally has him in her life. She never could, not when she still feels this way. 

“I’ll tell him,” she hears Bobby say faintly. “This whole cocked up thing is my fault, I’ll —”

“No,” Dean says, eyes shutting briefly at the pain of her next words. “He doesn’t — there’s no reason for him to know, Bobby. It doesn’t —”

“Dean—”

She laughs, humorously, and drags a hand through her hair that’s still sleep tangled. “S’not like I stay that long in any one place anyway, right? Was gonna be blowing this popsicle stand soon enough anyway. So I’ll just — be on my way, and he can get on with his apple pie life, go back to law school.”

“But—” Bobby frowns at her, biting his lip. Dean has to turn away again because, goddammit it, she _doesn’t_ cry. 

“It’s cool, man,” she says, wiping beneath her eyes discreetly. “Just let me handle it.”

“If you’re sure you know what you’re doing,” Bobby says after a too long silence. She hears him blow out a loud breath. “Alright, imma head over to Rufus, talk to him about another case he thinks he might have. If you’re gone by the time I’m back — well. Take care of yourself, Deanna.”

“Yeah,” Dean snorts, turning to face him once more. “I don’t know when I’ll be around again,” she confesses. “I’m so angry at you I can hardly stand it.” 

Bobby’s eyes flash with hurt. He nods, looking off to the side, eyes suspiciously shiny. “I understand that and deserve nothing less. But just know: you were never alone, Dean. I’ve always thought of you as one of my own.” He pauses. “Sam, too,” he adds quietly. 

Her heart clenches, and she watches him go, then stares out at the salvage yard until she hears Bobby’s car drive away. 

Dean’s numb as she walks around back to the garage, finding Sam sitting at the desk in the office with headphones on and his nose is a book. 

Her heart clenches. Sam. This is _Sammy_. This Sasquatch of a man who listens to terrible emo rock and reads up on Civic Law just for fun on his summers off. 

This is Sammy, her brother, who has now looked up, eyes lighting up upon seeing her standing there even though his mouth is set in a grimace. 

“Everything alright?” he asks, still managing to pop one dimple as he takes the headphones off. “Am I gonna get the ‘what are your intentions’ speech?”

“Sam—”

“Because, um, I gotta say, I’ve been thinking and—”

“Sam—”

He palms at the back of his neck in what Dean has already learned is a nervous tick and continues. “I mean, long distance ain’t that bad and—”

“Sammy!” Dean shouts, wincing when he looks embarrassed. “I’m leaving,” she says, does it like a band-aid.

Sam’s eyes widen, and he stands up, pushing back from the desk, dragging his palms over his thighs. “Oh, um. Is this because of Bobby? Because--”

_Yeah, but not in the way you’re thinking._. 

“No. No, this is just me, Sam. I mean, it's not like I was gonna stay here forever. And you’re going back to school soon.”

Sam’s giving her those fucking puppy dog looks; Dean’s heart is not just breaking it’s goddamn shattering, and that isn’t even hyperbole. 

She honest to god goes and falls in love for real -- for the first time in her life -- and by some cosmic joke the guy turns out to be the brother she thought was dead. 

Jesus Christ. 

“I…” Sam starts, licking his lips nervously. “We could make it work,” he whispers, ducking his head like it hurt too much to see Dean’s impending rejection. 

_You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew_ , she thinks, vicious, ugly. _You wouldn’t even be able to look at me right now_. 

She stands up straighter, schools her expression. “This wasn’t some great big love affair, Sam. We were just bored and killing time. You know how it is.”

Sam raises his head at that, wounded look firmly in place, bangs falling in front of his eyes. “You’re lying,” he whispers, but his voice is still hard, the words tight. “Your car has been fixed for weeks. You could’ve left.”

Dean shrugs, looking away. “Didn’t have any place to be. ‘Sides, you’re a good lay, man.” She’s striving for unaffected, and the way she sees Sam flinch out of the corner of her eye tells her she’s mastered it. 

“Right,” Sam replies, and it’s awful because there’s no trace of emotion in his voice at all now. Dean’s sucked it all away, and that’s a goddamn tragedy. Sam is so fucking passionate about anything and everything, and Dean — fuck, but she loves that about him. “Well. Wouldn’t want to keep you then.” 

She looks at him full on then, just in time to catch Sam’s profile as he walks past her and out the door, catching the wetness at the corners of his eyes. 

The sound of the door closing behind her is like the stone slab of a tomb and Dean pulls in a shuddering breath, unable to get her feet to move. 

She grabs the few things she has from the house, Sam nowhere to be seen. She pauses while in his room. The bed is still unmade, and if she bent down, she could probably still smell him on the sheets, both of them. It aches at her heart, the thought of losing him altogether. But it’s the only way. Even if Sam could get over the gravity of what they’d done, even if he could want to have a relationship with her as siblings, Dean can’t forgive herself for still wanting more. 

She would never act on it. Sammy had always been hers to protect —he’d just been ripped from her arms before she truly could — not corrupt. But the knowledge that some part of her would still want it is enough to keep her feet moving right now, as she shoves a flannel into her duffle and walks to the door. She isn’t sure if it’s her shirt or Sam’s and realizes there isn’t a difference anyway. He’s a part of her, always was, always would be. 

It’s worth it, the pain of leaving, just knowing he’s alive. 

Dean climbs into her baby and turns over the engine. Sam would get over it. He’d have a quiet, safe life, be a lawyer, get married and have kids. 

He wouldn’t remember the few weeks he fucked around with some drag racing drifter, and more importantly, he’d never know it had been his sister the whole time. 

Dean pulls out of the yard and doesn’t look back, even though every fibre of her being is dying to know if Sam watches her go.  
______________________________

_Oh, come take my hand  
We’re heading out tonight to case the promised land_

Life goes on, or so that’s the bullshit line. Dean knows better. She knows whatever she’s been doing the past three months can’t really be called living and is more accurately quantified as “existing.” It’s similar to the way things were after John died. Dean hunts, fucks, drinks, races. Not necessarily in that order. Maybe she happens to pick up guys that have dark, messy hair and hazel eyes more often now. Maybe she bites back a three letter name in the back of her throat when she comes on their dicks, and then drowns herself in booze afterward because the self-hatred is unbearable. She never stays the night, never lets anyone else. She doesn’t call Bobby, and he doesn’t reach out to her either. She appreciates him respecting her space, but she’s also never felt more disconnected from everything and everyone. 

She goes back to Kansas even though she’d promised herself she never would. She visits Sam’s gravesite, unable to fathom that John went through the trouble of that, tried to give her something tangible to mourn.

Dean bends down and traces her fingers over the name of her very much alive brother. 

“I can’t forgive you for this one, Dad. I might be able to forgive you for leaving me, but not Sammy. He should’ve been with us, for better or worse.” 

She walks away, tells herself she really won’t go back again after this. She begins to ponder over her own words the longer she’s alone. Maybe she’s wrong. Maybe Dad, Bobby and everyone else were right to give Sam that chance. The possibility of having a real home, safety, something she was never afforded. 

Maybe.

It’s on a chilly night in late October while walking out of a 7-11 in Nebraska, with a Slurpee in one hand and two strips of beef jerky in the other, that Dean sees Sam again. He’s propped up against the driver’s side door of the Impala like he’s never belonged anywhere else. 

Dean swallows down the rush of panic and puts on the mask of indifference she’s been wearing since that terrible day back in July. “I just waxed her,” she grumbles, coming to a stop in front of him. 

“Really?” Sam raises an eyebrow. That’s all you have to say?”

Dean sniffs, takes a sip of icy cherry cola goodness. It feels like heaven to her suddenly bone dry throat. “Kay, how about ‘why the fuck aren’t you in school’?”

Sam stands up straighter, squares his shoulders. God, she’d forgotten how tall he was. “I dropped out,” he replies easily, like he’s discussing the fucking weather. 

“You—“ Dean starts, floundering. The Slurpee slips out of her grip and lands near her feet on the ground. “Shit! What—“

Sam pushes off the car and takes a step forward. Dean inhales sharply. “See,” Sam begins, voice low. “Turns out that when you discover you have a sister whom you also happen to be in love with, law school is the least of your worries.”

Dean’s mouth drops open, cold seeping through her body. She ignores the last part of that statement, can’t even begin to focus on it right now. 

"This can't happen, Sam,” Dean replies, trying to find some resolve. It’s the mantra she’s told herself over and over the last few months. It’s the thing she keeps trying to believe. _It’s wrong, it’s fucked up, it can’t happen_. 

"It already happened, Dean."

Leave it to Sam to echo the demons in her own subconscious. "Yeah, well it — it shouldn’t have.” She shoves the beef jerky in the pocket of her leather jacket and runs a hand through her unruly strands. "Are you kidding me right now? You say that you’re -- that you--"

"That I’m in love with you," Sam finishes, calm as day. 

It’s as heartstopping to hear the second time as it was the first. "You don't even know me," Dean replies weakly. 

Sam looks her square in the eye and says, "I know you better than I’ve ever known anyone in my whole life."

Dean cuts her gaze away, shaking her head. Her heart restarts and races triple time. "I'm your sister. This is wrong, okay. God. Just..." There’s gotta be a way to make Sam believe that, even if she can’t herself. He’s supposed to be the smart one. 

Sam sniffs. "Doesn't feel it."

"You're stubborn as fuck.” Dean glares at him. “Just like dad."

Sam flinches at that. "Yeah, well, not like I'd know."

Dean flinches too, suddenly reminded of just how much Sam has missed. Of all the time and experiences robbed of him just because of their father’s twisted sense of preservation. “Yeah,” Dean says, voice faint, unable to meet Sam’s eyes, looking down at her feet instead. “Right.”

“You should have told me, you know.” Sam's voice sounds even closer now and when Dean looks up again looks up again he’s standing right in front of her, puppy dog eyes and too earnest face. 

“I couldn’t,” Dean whispers, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. 

Sam nods like he gets it. He _shouldn’t_ get it. He should be as furious as Dean was when she first found out from Bobby. 

“How’d you find out?” 

Sam shoves his hands in the jacket of his hoodie, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. “I got it out of Bobby while he was drunk. Not my finest moment. Then had it confirmed by my parents. Left school and spent the last month trying to find you.” 

Dean stares at him, tries to process the words. 

Sam laughs ruefully and continues on before Dean can formulate a reply. “You’re a tough lady to track down, you know that?”

Dean smirks, but she can barely feel it on her face. “Why didn’t Bobby let me know?”

Sam’s flush sits high on his cheeks; the sight of it is addictive. “Made him swear not to. And uh, he wasn’t none too happy hearing my intentions, anyway.” 

Dean’s heart hammers in her chest. “And just what are your intentions?” She goes for cold, disinterested. She knows she’s failed by a mile as she takes in Sam’s gaze, open and hopeful. 

He takes one step closer, then two, his hand raised to cup the side of her face. “To be with you,” he replies, voice rough as his fingers connect with her cheek, lighting her from in the inside out. “To just — fuck, Dean, I was so pissed off. At you, at Bobby, at my parents, at the dad I never knew. I was furious for weeks and did nothing but study and sleep and finally I just — it didn’t matter. School, my friends, everything I’d worked towards… none of it mattered anymore. Because I’d missed you every fucking day since you left and I figured you wouldn’t have taken off like that if you didn’t — if you didn’t still want this as much as I do.”

Dean was trembling by the time Sam was done, his thumb curved and warm against her jaw, his index finger sweeping up and down her cheek. “It’s wrong,” she makes herself say because that’s what’s expected of her. It’s what she’s tried so deep down in her bones to believe, to no avail. 

“I don’t care,” Sam replies, leaning forward to press his forehead to hers. “When I met you I felt like I’d known you my entire life. And I think — I think even if I had, Dean, I still would’ve ended up being in love with you.”

“Sammy,” she whispers helplessly, protesting, even as she reaches out to clutch at his shoulders. 

“I don’t care, Dean,” he repeats. “All that matters is us. And nothing has ever felt more right to me.”

Dean squeezes her eyes shut, heart beating so loud she can hear it in her ears now. “This is crazy.”

Sam laughs and, god, how she missed that sound. “Yeah,” he replies, breath hot against her face. “Yeah, it really is.”

Dean sags against him, all the fight leaving her. She was helpless even to try. She and Sam were irrevocably intertwined and always would be, regardless of the distance she’d tried to keep. 

Dean lets out a desperate groan, pulls him down by the back of his neck and presses their lips together, whispering, “Fuck, Sammy, I love you,” in between frantic, open-mouthed kisses. 

They make out right there in the middle of the 7-11 parking lot, Dean’s provisions long forgotten and sticky at their feet, while people catcall around them anytime they happen to pass. Finally, Dean pulls away, face flushed and lips swollen. “Alright, Casanova, I’ve got a race to run. Wanna be my Natalie Wood?”

“Hmm, depends,” he says, throwing an arm over her shoulder and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Am I resigned to a fate of drowning?” 

“Not on my watch,” Dean replies, deadly serious. 

Sam leans in for another kiss, this time on her lips, gently tipping her head backward. “Then I say lead on, James,” he whispers against her mouth. 

She pauses for a moment, then tosses him the keys, scoffing at his car that’s parked next to hers in the lot. 

Sam blinks at her in surprise as he catches them. “Yeah?”

Dean shrugs. “Don’t get used to it, baby brother.”

Sam’s eyes flash with happiness at her words but also — oh — something else too. Dean smiles, a pleasant shiver running through her. 

She doesn’t stop smiling as they get in the car, doesn’t stop when Sam complains about the sappy Bob Seger song she puts on as they drive (“It may not be Night Moves, but it’s a classic, Samuel”), doesn’t stop when Sam takes her hand halfway through the drive as the song switches over to Thunder Road, the Boss singing about sitting tight and taking hold as Sam strokes his fingers over the back of her palm. 

Dean’s not naive, knows there’s no way this is going to be easy. The thought of navigating her first serious romantic relationship while also being a big sister for the first time in her life — and those two things being hopelessly intertwined — is terrifying. Not to mention the fact that there’s still a demon out there and Sam could still be in danger, especially now that he’s in Dean’s orbit. 

Yet even in the face of all these uncertainties, she can’t scrub the smile off her face, can’t remember the last time she’d smiled so hard. 

Dean’s ready for it, all of it. It’s what she was born to do. Protect Sammy. Love Sammy. And by god was she going to do so, or die trying.

She squeezes Sam’s hand and tells him, “Open ‘er up, will ya, I’ve got places to be and money to win.” 

Her hair blows in the wind as Sam laughs and drives faster, the rumble of her baby’s engine and this beautiful boy beside her the only two things she needs in the world. 

The End.


End file.
